House call
by labyrinth38
Summary: Chase gets a call from House with a somewhat strange request... Hurt/comfort fic; no slash. - Some spoilers for Season 4, but not for the season finale!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everybody! :) I'm back with a short two-parter, still mostly hurt/comfort but ****House and _Chase _for a change. Because I just love him this season... :)**

**Second part will be up in a couple of days. - Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Reflexively checking the caller ID, Chase answered his cell phone frowning slightly. "Tough case…?" Why else would his ex-boss be calling him on a Sunday night…

He thought he heard the other man exhale tensely in what might have been an odd sort of half-laugh, before House replied shortly in a slightly hoarse voice: "Not how you think. – Need you to come over…"

Chase's frown deepened exponentially. "Over… where?"

A brief moment of hesitation. Then, gruffly: "My place. – Bring some doctor stuff."

* * *

When a minute of pounding on the other man's door got him no response, Chase felt along the top of the door frame, hoping House still kept his spare key somewhere around here… He did.

Quickly letting himself in, he was slightly shocked to find House on his couch, pale, sweating, and looking as if he was about to pass out. He had his bad leg elevated slightly on a rolled-up blanket, and a kitchen towel wrapped tightly around his left forearm.

As soon as he came closer to the couch, he could also smell faint traces of vomit. And urine…

"What happened…?!" He quickly set down the medical bag he had brought, trying to visually assess the situation some more.

When House just tiredly looked up at him, but didn't say anything, Chase carefully sat down on the edge of the couch, reaching out to gently unwrap the obviously bleeding forearm. He found several straight cuts that looked relatively shallow and one uneven, ragged one that had apparently gone deep into the tissue and caused the majority of the bleeding.

He searched the other man's gaze, eyes questioning. "What happened, House?" Instinctively reaching out to take House's pulse, he noticed that the skin of his hand felt clammy.

When the other man still didn't talk, he quickly scanned the rest of his body, trying to detect obvious injuries that could explain his condition. Not immediately finding anything out of the ordinary, he eventually eyed his former boss intently, willing him to finally say something.

"House… You look pretty shocky. I need you to tell me what's wrong…" Traces of concern were clearly penetrating his clinical attitude by now.

House closed his eyes in obvious discomfort – and shame maybe? – but he finally broke his silence.

"Been having breakthrough pain since 7 last night. Can't get it under control; can't get up… And I cut myself."

Chase nodded, apparently immediately grasping the situation now. "Okay. How much Vicodin… And how much pain?"

A pained half-laugh. "Too much. – That goes for both…"

Another nod. One was expected, the other one apparent…

"Pain-scale, House. Honestly."

He saw House clench his right hand to a fist. "Around an 8, right now..."

Without hesitation, Chase started to prepare a syringe. "Okay. We'll try a shot of IV morphine and see how you're doing then… Have you ever had trouble tolerating it?" He was already looking for a good vein.

House just tensely shook his head, before suddenly biting his lower lip sharply, obviously swallowing an involuntary sound of pain. Intent on not wasting any more time, Chase determinedly, but slowly, started to push the drug.

Setting aside the empty syringe, Chase's hand immediately went back to House's wrist, checking his pulse while at the same time keeping his eyes on his chest to monitor his respiration.

When House finally closed his eyes in apparent relief, Chase wordlessly started to prepare some lidocaine.

"I'm gonna stitch up your arm now, if you feel up to it…"

Just a weak nod. House's breathing was finally starting to even out.

Injecting the local anesthetic, Chase quickly stitched up the deepest of the cuts, before carefully cleaning and bandaging the rest of the forearm. When he had finished packing everything up again, he noticed House's gaze resting on him. He gave his ex-boss the faintest of half-smiles, before briefly touching his arm again, lightly pinching the skin.

"You're pretty dehydrated, aren't you…" Not really a question. "Think you can keep some juice down? Or do you need a bag…"

House shook his head slightly. "Kitchen. Next to the door…"

When Chase returned with a glass of apple juice, he noticed that House had propped himself up slightly, still looking pained but not as pale as before. When the older man gave a few weak half-coughs, Chase frowned slightly, juice – for now – forgotten. "Can you breathe okay?"

Getting nothing but an eye roll in response, Chase handed over the glass, the concern on his face momentarily turning to slight annoyance. "Well, excuse me for being just _a little bit concerned_ about your respiratory status, after giving you _IV morphine _on top of I don't even wanna _know_ how many milligram of hydrocodone…"

Apparently unmoved by the sarcastic comment, House simply started to sip his juice, before briefly meeting the younger man's accusing gaze. "Apology accepted."

This time, Chase rolled his eyes at the dry reply.

When he was about to take a seat on the couch table, Chase suddenly noticed that the smell of vomit seemed to be coming from a trash can, hidden from view just behind the head-part of the couch. Focusing on _not_ thinking about the kind of pain it would take for House to actually throw up, Chase wordlessly disposed of it in the bathroom.

When he returned again, House had finished the glass of juice, and was now carefully rubbing his right thigh. Chase only now noticed that he was oddly wearing a shoe on that side…

He bravely nodded towards it. "You wanna get that off…?"

Just an uncomfortable half-nod.

Chase quickly opened the shoes laces, before very carefully sliding the sneaker off the obviously swollen foot, causing House to moan softly and shut his eyes tightly again. Chase eyed the limb, frowning slightly. "Should there be swelling?"

House just shrugged. "There _shouldn't_ be a chunk of muscle missing from my thigh." Words laced with sarcasm.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes again, Chase started to gently massage the swollen foot and lower leg instead, surprised when House didn't immediately stop him. Without taking his eyes off the task, he finally asked in as neutral a voice as he managed: "What about Wilson?"

House had in the meantime lain back again and was covering his eyes with his right forearm. "What about him…"

"Does he know you're… unwell?"

Just a shrug. "He's busy."

Chase frowned again at that, searching House's gaze, but finding his eyes still covered. "Doing what?" He could hardly imagine that the oncologist would simply leave his best friend to suffer like that…

"Securing his bonds with Mrs Future-Ex-Wilson number four…" He finished with a spontaneous hiss, causing Chase to lighten his touch somewhat.

"But you called him…"

This time, House looked at him briefly, before turning his head slightly to the side again. "Didn't give him the specifics. But yeah… I called him." A reluctant admission.

Chase shook his head, clearly taken aback. "And… he… told you he was busy?!" That didn't sound like Wilson.

House threw him an impatient glance, but his next words were very quiet. "They thought it was a scam."

_They_. – Of course. Wilson and Amber…

Chase felt a strange pain somewhere around his chest at the other man's defeated tone. Maybe this stupid fight over Wilson's time hadn't been such a good idea after all… He concentrated on sounding clinical again when he asked the next question.

"Have you gotten up at all since last night?"

He got a snort for that one. "Doesn't look that way, does it…" House vaguely gestured towards a large coffee cup on the low table next to the couch. Chase only now noticed that it seemed to be the source of the faint urine smell… The pain in his chest intensified.

After another couple of minutes, he carefully placed the leg down again, eyeing his former boss pensively. "Think you can eat something?"

A small grimace. Then: "I'll be fine now." He very briefly met the younger man's gaze, before looking away again. "Thanks…"

Chase just shook his head. "Nothing to thank me for. – And I'm not leaving you like this. Not until you've had something to eat, and I know you're getting around okay." His suddenly authoritative demeanor left very little room for protest.

House frowned at that, unhappily, before putting on his famous whining tone. "But _Mom_… I'm really not hungry…!"

Chase simply ignored the attempt at distraction. "Not hungry; or nauseous?"

Reluctantly resigning himself to the other man's apparently unavoidable aftercare, House tiredly sank back against the couch, muttering under his breath: "Mostly not hungry…"

Chase nodded. It wasn't surprising really...

"Okay. But you still need to eat a little. - What do you say, we'll order some soup somewhere and see how that goes…?"

Finally a reluctant half-shrug, but no more protest.

When Chase returned from the phone, he was surprised to find House in the process of getting up. The frown on his face was instantly back. "What are you doing…?"

House very carefully lifted his bad leg down from the couch, using both hands to support the obviously still very painful limb.

"Taking a shower before _dinner_."

Chase's eyes widened slightly in alarm. "I'm… not sure this is such a good idea, House…" He absolutely didn't appear steady enough to stand in a spray of hot water for any period of time…

"Not gonna pass out." House made his third attempt to push himself up, before admitting grudgingly: "Could use a little help here though…"

With Chase's support, he made it to the bathroom but stopped in the doorway, his breathing heavy, face pale again, a thin sheet of sweat covering his forehead. He hesitated a moment, before simply announcing: "I'll leave the door unlocked…"

* * *

**Second part will follow soon... Thanks for reading! :)  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Soooo, friends of Princeton's hospital subculture… Here's the next part of "House call"! :)**

**Even though this was originally supposed to be a two-parter, many of you guys suggested that there just **_**had**_** to be some kind of Chase-Wilson confrontation, so I decided I'll probably just add a third chapter in the near future. :) **

**But for now, I hope you enjoy the original conclusion to this. Have fun!**

* * *

20 minutes later, House exited the bathroom again, clad only in a wide bathrobe. Before Chase could even offer some help, he had already stumbled back to the sofa, sank down on it and brought his head down towards his knees. He inhaled deeply a couple of times, clearly trying not to pass out right there and then.

Chase quickly approached him with a glass of water, eyeing him critically. "Here… Drink."

House accepted the glass with a slightly trembling hand.

"House…" Chase concentrated on keeping the concern out of his tone, but could tell that he wasn't quite succeeding. "You been having pain like this before?" To the other man's dubious glance, he quickly clarified: "I just wanna know if the leg needs to be checked; if you think this could be something acute."

For once, House answered truthfully; clinically. "Had an MRI 10 days ago. – There's nothing mysterious going on here. Just plain old breakthrough pain…" Even though his tone was – for the most part – impassive, an underlying bitterness tinged his words.

Chase's frown reappeared at his former bosse's words. "So… How often does it get this bad?" He didn't really expect House to answer this one. At least not truthfully.

To his surprise, House hesitated slightly, but then just shrugged. "Not often. Maybe once a month."

Chase looked shocked by the admission. "House, that's… too often. – Does Wilson know?"

No reply.

"House… He's your prescribing physician. You need to let him know that – "

He was abruptly interrupted. "Yeah?! And what do you think he'll do with that information?! – He's having a heart-attack every time he sees me take a Vicodin as it is! You really think he'd be thrilled to have me ask for even _more_ pain meds?!"

Trying not to react to the other man's angry tone, Chase just calmly met his gaze. "Every chronic pain patient needs some sort of rescue medication. You know that. – You should at least talk to him about breakthrough pain situations. Work something out to avoid stressing your system like this…" He vaguely gestured towards his former boss, who was still much too pale and very obviously completely exhausted.

House glanced towards the ceiling in frustration, the whole conversation containing entirely too much dramatics for his taste. "Yeah, yeah, yeah… Lecture time's over. I can assure you that I'd like to avoid a repeat of the last 24 hours myself, if I can… - And now shut up and either get us some spoons, or at least leave me in peace until that chicken soup arrives…"

Chase rolled his eyes at that. "I didn't order 'chicken soup', House… You don't have the flu, and I'm not your mother."

When House gingerly lifted his bad leg with both hands to once more elevate it on the rolled-up blanket at the end of the couch, Chase rolled his eyes again. "Though I'm somehow starting to feel that way…" He nodded towards the obviously uncomfortable support. "I'll get you a pillow instead. There one in your bedroom?"

"Nope. Usually sleep on a bench of steel. No blanket; no pillows…"

When Chase returned with a big bed pillow, House was just adjusting the bathrobe he was still wearing, obviously making sure that the scar on his leg was completely covered after his change into a reclined position.

Chase approached the foot of the couch, wordlessly searching the other man's critical gaze. When House just gave one curt nod, he carefully lifted the leg slightly, quickly exchanging the blanket for the pillow, frowning when he noticed that the foot still appeared somewhat swollen.

Once again concentrating on keeping his attitude clinical, he calmly turned towards his former boss again. "You got a heat pad or something? – We should probably do something for the circulation below the knee…"

House replied with a minute shake of his head. "It's fine…"

Hesitantly, Chase nodded. "Okay. But I'm gonna have to check your foot pulses. So don't kick me…" Without waiting for a response, he gently pressed the fingers of his right hand against the inner side of House's ankle, before moving them to the instep of the foot and repeating the action. Then he nodded again, briefly making eye contact with the other man. "They're fine." He lightly touched House's lower leg next, trying to gauge its temperature, before vaguely nodding towards the thigh that was still completely covered by the bathrobe. "Did you notice any heat? Or swelling?" He made no move to look at it himself.

House met his gaze, the expression on his face softening slightly. "No. – It's fine, Chase…"

The younger man nodded, more confidently this time. "Okay… Good."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Chase was still there, both men finally relaxed, watching some old Basil Rathbone movie in surprisingly comfortable silence. When House absently started to rub his thigh, Chase checked the time, quickly calculating that the morphine should slowly be wearing out by now.

"You need another shot?" He looked at the older man, carefully keeping his tone completely neutral, wanting House to know that this was his call.

After a very brief moment of silence, House shook his head slightly, uncomfortably averting his gaze. "Feels much better. Think I'll be good with the Vicodin again…"

Chase eyed him a moment longer, but then just returned a nod. "Okay; good." Then, tentatively: "Think you gonna be okay on your own tonight?"

House threw him an annoyed look at that. "I seem to remember that I told you to leave _hours_ ago. - Would have been fine _then_. -- I never said I needed you here…"

Chase looked stunned for a second, slightly caught off guard by the sharp words, but then just turned towards the TV again, casually taking another sip of his Coke. "Sure! I know…"

Then, after a minute of slightly uneasy silence: "So… New guys any good?" Tone very casual.

House eyed him briefly. "You mean the three Stooges?" He continued with a small shrug, tone lighter for the first time that night. "At least they're _endlessly_ entertaining… I mean, one of them regularly sets patients on fire, one has probably screwed more nurses than Wilson, and one helps doubling the vividness of my L- word fantasies on a practically daily basis, while continuously responding to a two-digit number so…" Another shrug. "What more could a guy want?"

Chase chuckled at that. "Yeah… - So why don't you just give out questionnaires on applicants' sexual preference and handling of electric appliances next time you're looking for new fellows?"

House didn't miss a beat. "Because then my _car_ would miss out on having its _hood _polished by 15 medical specialists…!" He smirked slightly at the memory.

Chase did, too.

After another few minutes of silence, House suddenly spoke again, never taking his eyes off the TV. "Almost expected a bit of _revenge_ tonight…"

Chase frowned at that, clearly not following the other man's train of thought. "Revenge… for what?" He finally questioned, confusion showing on his face. He turned his head slightly to look at his former boss, but House didn't meet his questioning gaze. Nor did he elaborate any further.

And he didn't need to. After another moment of puzzled silence, Chase got it all on his own. "What, you mean because you _fired_ me?!"

House didn't reply anything, eyes still glued to the TV screen.

"I wouldn't wanna get revenge…!" Voice rising slightly towards the end of the sentence. "I'm not… holding a grudge, House! – I had the best three years of my life working for you, but you made the right choice letting me go. – I'm _happy_, House…"

When the older man still didn't reply anything, he added more quietly: "Besides… Now wouldn't have been a good time to get back to you, would it. You can't have thought I'd use something like this against you…"

Then he turned slightly towards House again, eyeing him pensively for a moment. "And… not that I think you need – or even want – to hear this, but…" A small smile grazed his lips. "I think we're fine, House."

At that, the older man finally reacted with an audible release of air. Chase couldn't decide whether it was some sort of half-laugh, annoyance or defeat. For a moment, he actually regretted having allowed the situation to progress this far.

But then House turned towards him, intense blue eyes fixed directly on his.

"Don't even _think _about hugging me."

Chase looked stunned for a second, but then just chuckled slightly. "Wouldn't _dream_ of it. – Believe me; I've learned my lesson…"

* * *

When House declared, hours later, that he was going to bed, Chase carefully observed the other man's gait. He was walking more slowly than usual, but seemed to be getting around well enough, much more secure on his feet than he'd been just a few hours ago.

"Don't worry, House…" He called after him, just the right amount of sarcasm tinging his words. "I'll just let myself out!"

House simply kept on walking. "I have full confidence in your navigational skills…"

When he had reached the door to his bedroom, he hesitated briefly, head bowed, hand already on the door knob. Then he threw a last look over his shoulder, once again meeting the younger man's gaze. He finally gave a small nod, at the same time pushing the door open. "See you tomorrow."

Taking one last sip of his Coke, a soft smile played around Chase's lips. "Good night, House."

**The end (for now...)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! So… I finally managed to write the concluding third part of "House call". - After that horrible season finale I was almost unable to write any Wilson at all, so I hope this will work out somehow… Anyway: Hope you enjoy! :)  
**

* * *

"68 year old woman, diagnosed with lung cancer two years ago." Chase entered Wilson's office reciting from a chart, therefore never quite making eye contact with the oncologist. His tone was casual, but something about his demeanor seemed a bit 'off'. "Cancer metastasized to one of the phalangettes in her right foot. Severe metastatic pain resulted, which has been treated with oxycodone for the past 4 months."

Frowning slightly, Wilson interrupted. "Uh… Are you talking about Mrs Gabinsky…?"

Chase continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Patient was brought into the ER by her daughter last week, because even maximum dosages of the narcotic weren't able to manage her continuously increasing pain level anymore. – A partial phalangectomy was conducted under local anesthesia as a palliative surgical measure on Wednesday, leading to almost complete pain relief."

Only now returning the other man's gaze, Chase slowly placed the chart on his desk.

Wilson's frown had in the meantime deepened exponentially. "Uh… Yeah, I know, Chase. _You_ performed the surgery, because _I_ asked you to."

Chase nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good call! Your decision helped reduce that woman's average daily pain level by 85 percent, thereby at least doubling her remaining quality of life."

"Chase." Wilson's tone was almost stern by now; he was eyeing the younger man intently. "Is there anything you're trying to say, other than we performed surgery on a cancer patient and it was very successful?"

Chase replied with a barely discernable nod. "When you asked me to do that procedure, you also asked me to do it _as soon as possible_. – I actually postponed a couple of other surgeries to get it done _that same day_. You know why I did that?" He didn't wait for Wilson to respond. "Because acute, unmanaged pain is a _medical emergency_. A _top-priority situation_! And of course you know that very well, and usually seem to accept that fact for your patients, or you wouldn't have asked me to do the procedure that urgently."

The look on Wilson's face was slowly but surely shifting to one of annoyance, his patience clearly wearing out. That didn't seem to stop the younger man though, who adopted an almost lecturing tone now.

"Pain is very bad. – And lying on your couch for more than 24 hours, unable to move, unable to get up, and being forced to pee into cups and vomit into trashcans, while your best friend thinks you're _faking_, is _even worse_!"

Stunned silence. The anger instantly left Wilson's face, which paled visibly at the other man's words. "What… – Are you talking about _House_?!" He was obviously completely dumbfounded. "How can you…"

Chase interrupted him. "He called me last night, because he'd run out of options at that point. When I arrived, he was at an _8_ on the pain scale and hadn't moved or eaten all day. He was dehydrated, tachycardic and _bleeding_, because he'd _cut_ himself in a desperate attempt to try and deal with his breakthrough pain!"

Wilson looked honestly shocked for a moment, before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Wait… Did he tell you to come here?"

Just a snort. "He'd probably cut my tongue out…" Then, more seriously: "He didn't send me. – This isn't a scam, Wilson."

Nodding slowly, the other man still didn't seem to be convinced. "Okay, so maybe he didn't send you. But he _knew_ you'd tell me. – Are you sure he didn't just use you to – "

Chase got louder at that. "I'm an _intensivist_! – I recognize shock when I see it." He eyed the oncologist intently again. "He didn't fake it. – He let me clean away his vomit, for God's sake…"

Wilson slowly shook his head. "You can't honestly think it'd be beyond him to – "

"Wilson! This isn't a scam! – I know it's shocking, but he's not the one who screwed up this time…"

That finally seemed to get through to the other man, who looked defensive for all but a second, before stubbornly shaking his head again and replying with a slight shrug.

"I don't think I screwed up, Chase!" Tone surprisingly light. "If he hadn't been constantly messing with me and Amber the last couple of weeks, then maybe I could still take him seriously when he tells me something… I had no way of knowing that this, for once, wasn't tactical."

Chase's gaze remained hard on the other man, unwavering. "That's not an excuse, Wilson. You're his prescribing physician! It's your professional duty to _not _assume it's tactical when he asks for your medical help!"

Wilson raised both eyebrows in response, bravely returning the younger man's by now openly accusing gaze. "Well, sorry for also having a _life_, Chase! Which I'm right now trying to expand a bit…"

For a second, Chase looked as if he had been slapped in the face. Then he seemed to consciously control his expression again, before replying in a remarkably calm voice. "Listen. What's going on between you, House and Amber isn't really any of my business. – But as long as you're his prescribing physician, you can't just ignore him, when there's even a _remote_ chance that he really is in trouble… - If you think that's too much to ask, you need to change something about the situation. Because leaving someone in pain like this… That's _torture_."

Wilson winced visibly at those words, before starting to rub the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. Then he slowly shook his head, eyes fixed on some point on the far wall.

"This would never have happened, if he wasn't so damn proud! If he'd just told me _directly, seriously_ what was going on…"

Chase eyed him incredulously, his gaze softening a bit. "You've known him for what… 15 years?! – D'you really expect him to just come out and say: Hey, Wilson, I've got agonizing breakthrough pain, so I need you to come over and help me out here?!"

Silence. – Then, with another small shrug: "You're right. Maybe I really don't expect him to. Maybe he is actually unable to act like a normal person. – But _I'm_ not to blame for his suffering then."

Chase replied with a clipped nod. "So, you're not to blame. – Feel any better now?!"

Wilson couldn't help but avert his gaze at that.

The younger doctor used the moment of silence to continue more softly: "He can't afford to put this kind of strain on his system, especially not on a more or less regular basis." He was eyeing the other man intently, willing him to understand.

Wilson slowly shook his head, now clearly shocked, at the new information or at his own behavior Chase couldn't tell…

"I… - What did you do?"

Chase calmly met his gaze. "IV morphine. Single dose. – He was doing better almost immediately and decided to switch back to the Vicodin a couple of hours later."

"I… - I don't know what to say, Chase. For once, I absolutely didn't read him right. I honestly thought he was just trying to yank my chain."

Chase nodded, once. "Yeah, well… I'm not the one who needs to hear this. - You should go talk to him."

With that he simply got up and made to leave the room. He stopped briefly when Wilson called after him. "Chase!" Turning around again, he found Wilson's brown eyes resting on him, trying to convey something he couldn't quite read. "Thanks for… helping him out."

* * *

"You've got a big _mouth_…!" Sticking his head through the door of the surgical lounge, House fixed Chase with a piercing gaze.

The younger man just shrugged, not even looking up from his crossword puzzle and sandwich. "He needed to know. And you wouldn't have told him."

House huffed out a breath. "Ever considered I might have my reasons for that?!"

Chase continued writing, but nodded in response, preparing to take another bite of his sandwich. "None of them _good_ enough."

A brief moment of silence, before House continued in a semi-annoyed and definitely sarcastic tone: "But maybe you've heard of this new concept? Wait a minute… – I think it has something to do with a doctor, a patient, and _confidentiality_!"

Chase replied without hesitation. "You're not my patient, House."

"Oh? So you usually run around sticking needles laced with morphine in the arms of innocent people, who are _not your patients_?"

The younger man finally looked up to meet his gaze at that, face completely impassive. "On the other hand: Do _you_ usually spend hours in front of the TV with random _doctors_?"

Clearly appreciating the witty comeback, House couldn't keep one corner of his mouth from quirking up slightly. "If they're oncologists: yes, I do! - But you've still got a point…"

Giving up on the idea of a peaceful lunch break for now, Chase got out of his chair to pour himself a large cup of coffee. He then lifted the coffee pot slightly into House's general direction, throwing the older man a questioning glance. When House just shook his head in response, he took his own cup and leaned back against the counter, eyeing his former boss pensively.

"So… You two talk?"

A glum look on his face, House finally entered the room fully, flopping down in one of the easy chairs. "Thanks to your thoughtful intervention: Yes!" Tone slightly accusing.

Carefully suppressing a small smile, Chase concentrated on keeping his tone impassive. "And… Were you able to work something out?"

House just shrugged slightly, picking up Chase's crossword puzzle and half-heartedly starting to scribble parts of the solution in.

"Didn't actually have to _work_ so much this time. Didn't even get treated with one of his famous lectures… – Whatever it is you told him, you seem to have made a pretty convincing point."

Chase had no trouble identifying the relevant part of the sentence. "I didn't tell him much, House. Just enough for him to get an idea of the situation. – So, don't worry. You're reputation's still perfectly intact…" He smiled slightly, then took another sip of his coffee.

When House didn't reply anything, Chase came back to his earlier question. "So… Anything you're gonna change?"

House briefly met his gaze at that, replying after a very short moment of hesitation. "He wants me to write a pain diary for a while… Apparently, _something_ has given him the idea that this hasn't been a one-time occurrence. - And I got a new toy. So I won't have to interrupt my ex-employees' cozy weekends anymore…"

Chase smirked slightly at that, before eyeing the other man pensively again. "Morphine derivative?"

A very small nod. "Hydromorphone."

Chase nodded slightly as well. "Good."

After a brief moment of silence, House carelessly flung the other man's magazine onto a nearby table and started to push himself to his feet. Chase couldn't help but notice that he was still moving more stiffly than usual, testing the stability of his leg before actually putting his weight on it again.

When he then turned to leave the room, Chase spontaneously called after him. "House."

The older man half turned around again, throwing him a questioning and slightly impatient glance.

Undeterred, Chase calmly returned his gaze. "I'm glad you were able to call me…"

House looked actually surprised for a split second, but then just shrugged in response. "Yeah, well… This thing called 'phone' does actually come in handy sometimes..."

Not what the other man had meant, and he knew it…

Chase replied with a nod and a small smile. "Whatever…" Then, confidently: "Wanna go out for a couple of drinks tonight?"

House raised both eyebrows at that, putting on his most appalled expression. "Why Dr Chase! Are you asking me out on a _date_?!" When he got nothing but an eye-roll and a slightly impatient look in response, he replied very shortly. "No."

Pushing the door open and stepping out into the corridor, House suddenly turned back around again. He just stared at Chase for a moment, before nodding at him somewhat challengingly. "How about bowling instead?"

Seemingly unfazed by House's earlier response, Chase just shrugged, actually looking pleased at the prospect. "Sure! That'd be fun..."

House confirmed the plan with a nod. "Come by my office around 7. - You drive." Then, with a slight smirk: "And no; it wouldn't."

* * *

The end (for real...) :)


End file.
